It's widely reported how the banks brought us to our knees and are continuing to keep us there. It's much less widely reported that I hold particularly vehement views on the matter. Although by writing about it regularly at least some people may well have picked up on my feelings. One of the things the banks are failing to do is offer the lending that will start the economy moving. Well why should they - by hoarding all that taxpayers money, and trading with implicit Government guarantees they can continue to feather their nests whilst the real people wonder how to make ends meet, and ponder the realities of having to visit the job centre. The mind set of not giving has permeated well beyond just handing out loans. Yesterday I popped in to my local branch of Lloyds TSB to pay in a cheque.
Lloyds TSB as I'm sure you know are one of the key sponsors of the 2012 Olympics. Their name is plastered all over the ticketing brochures that were neatly stacked in a very impressive display unit ready for the likes of you and me to grab to go and book our tickets. Actually, looking at the prices, I'm not sure how many will really be booking tickets, but that's beside the point. The point is that this fabulous display was positioned neatly BEHIND the cashiers. Out of reach unless you're a bank robber. Even when I asked for a copy, I there was a reluctance to give me one. Why is that? I can only think it's because the concept of anything going out of the bank and into the hands of real people is now beyond them. Morons.
Anyway, it's good to see that NATO is to launch air attacks on Saudi Arabia for its actions in quelling the pro-democracy protesters in Bahrain. This is shortly to be followed by strikes against North Korea and then Burma. Zimbabwe is on the to do list sources have told me. I'm glad to see that it has carefully considered its position with regards Libya, and decided that as it is a sovereign nation in which one Libyan is fighting another, we should leave well alone. I'm a little concerned that the UK has been given three months to reform its voting system to ensure that its Government fairly reflects the will of the people, but I'm sure the country will bow to international pressure and do the right thing.
The UK's position on Gadaffi shows just how corrupt Blair's bunch were. They brought the Libyan regime in from the cold. Blair still defends this position. He would have been long gone if Britain and the international community had done the right thing decades ago. Expect dirty little secrets come tumbling out into the open in the coming months.
It's a terrible thing when the innocent are killed, and in this case by their own government, but it sets a dangerous precedent when the international community starts taking sides and getting involved. The Russians and Chinese have worried about this (partly because there are plenty of potential rebellions in their own borders), but abstained in the UN vote because the case against Gadaffi is overwhelming. The question is will that decision come back to bite them in the proverbial arse?
Friday, 18 March 2011
Thursday, 17 March 2011
Slug etiquette
The elderly city gent swayed onto the tube train as it stopped at Bank station. By elderly I mean he was cruising through to retirement, and sensibly should have gone and enjoyed his twilight years rather than sweat away in a city office. I'll say he was a gent because he was smartly dressed, not too smartly, but just and well presented. He sat down and the few glasses of alcohol - I'll bet gin and tonics - that he'd enjoyed that evening sent him quickly asleep. Some stops down the line, it became apparent there was a slug on the seat next to him - easily mistaken for a piece of chewing gum, it was betrayed by its desperate dash from one side of the cushion to the other. It then became a question of etiquette. Should the party of four middle agers, middle classers sitting opposite wake him up and warn him of his impending intimate companion. And if so how. The looks of surprise turned into smiles of puzzlement and then an elevated giggle broke out between them It had to be done, and a hand reached out and shook the City Gent gently. At first he didn't stir. The power of alcohol. But after the shakes became more vigorous with an added level of urgency as the slimy creature got closer to his jacket, he opened his eyes. "Sorry to disturb you, but there's a slug on the seat next to you and it's getting closer" said The Shaker. The City Gent looked across uncomprehending. So The Shaker repeated himself to the same response. It became necessary to say it again and again before The City Gent replied, "I'm sorry I have no idea what you are saying". At which point all four of the middle agers, middle classers chimed and pointed in unison, "There's a slug on the seat next to you and it's getting closer." That did the trick, and The Gent looked down. His faced gained an element of surprise. "Well what do I do?" he questioned. "Move down a few seats" was the suggestion from The Four. But The Gent was wiser and never one to shirk a challenge. From his suit he took his wallet and extracted his City Business Card. "You don't need to give him your business card" joked one of the four; a comment which was met with a look that was half-comprehending, half wondering about its seriousness. The gent put the card down in front of the slug and encouraged it on with a few kind words. The slug, not encouraged at all by the words, slid forwards. A cheer went up from The Four.
Meanwhile,further down the carriage, a young man with modern music blasting into his ears looked on misunderstanding all. He chose his moment. Red faced he stood up, paused and said, "What are you doing. We all like a drink. Leave him alone." The Four turned as one and spoke as four. Amongst the babble somewhere was the fair and true explanation about the adventures of the slug. The Red Faced Man was a disbeliever but didn't quite have the words he wanted. there was more babbling, so he slumped down again, but not in such a way that he couldn't leap up and make his verbal aggression turn to the physical.
At this point The Gent became the Samaritan, turned towards the Red Faced Man to say, "What's your problem." It was a statement not a question. Silence from the far end of the carriage until The Red Faced Man rescued himself by commenting, "I could eat it if you like."
For a few further minutes an uneasy peace held whilst the slug continued to do circuits of The City Gents business card oblivious to the bother it had caused until it was time for Red Faced Man, The City Gent and his friendly slug to leave at the next station. The only trace of the incident of slug in the night were the slimy trails on the seat cushions.
By comparison, meeting Fergal Sharkey at the bar of the HMV Apollo a couple of hours earlier was much less surreal. Lovely, polite, friendly fellow and still afeared of his mother. I'd recommend you go and see The Decemberists who put on a very fine show indeed.
Anyway, any excuse to put on some Fergal Sharkey.
And not to miss out on The Decemberists
Meanwhile,further down the carriage, a young man with modern music blasting into his ears looked on misunderstanding all. He chose his moment. Red faced he stood up, paused and said, "What are you doing. We all like a drink. Leave him alone." The Four turned as one and spoke as four. Amongst the babble somewhere was the fair and true explanation about the adventures of the slug. The Red Faced Man was a disbeliever but didn't quite have the words he wanted. there was more babbling, so he slumped down again, but not in such a way that he couldn't leap up and make his verbal aggression turn to the physical.
At this point The Gent became the Samaritan, turned towards the Red Faced Man to say, "What's your problem." It was a statement not a question. Silence from the far end of the carriage until The Red Faced Man rescued himself by commenting, "I could eat it if you like."
For a few further minutes an uneasy peace held whilst the slug continued to do circuits of The City Gents business card oblivious to the bother it had caused until it was time for Red Faced Man, The City Gent and his friendly slug to leave at the next station. The only trace of the incident of slug in the night were the slimy trails on the seat cushions.
By comparison, meeting Fergal Sharkey at the bar of the HMV Apollo a couple of hours earlier was much less surreal. Lovely, polite, friendly fellow and still afeared of his mother. I'd recommend you go and see The Decemberists who put on a very fine show indeed.
Anyway, any excuse to put on some Fergal Sharkey.
And not to miss out on The Decemberists
Wednesday, 16 March 2011
Growing on trees
Wednesday's gallery from Tara is themed with the word trees. I have a lot of pictures of trees, but I had hoped to get something spectacular from my trip to Norfolk, only to discover trees are not big in East Anglia. Hedges, yes, they stop the cold wind blowing across the flatlands,but really trees seem to be an unnecessary luxury up there.
I took this one when we visited Lebanon. Sorry it's not a cedar.
Boys and trees. I lost count a long time ago of the number of shirts, jackets, jeans that were ruined by tree climbing antics
Not my photo...but isn't it gorgeous? It's a police station there. Under cover cops? Thank you Becca.
Just from a walk in Hereford
I took this one when we visited Lebanon. Sorry it's not a cedar.
Boys and trees. I lost count a long time ago of the number of shirts, jackets, jeans that were ruined by tree climbing antics
Not my photo...but isn't it gorgeous? It's a police station there. Under cover cops? Thank you Becca.
Just from a walk in Hereford
Tuesday, 15 March 2011
The Falling Man
Natural disasters lead to enormous numbers of dead...so large that the people become just that...numbers. Did you ever see the picture, or indeed the video of The Falling Man? As one of the Twin Towers burnt on 9/11, someone photographed a man falling from near the top. It's an iconic image of the human shape with the steel and glass of the tower behind him. In one picture, the whole terrible disaster was humanised. In the same way, watching the footage of the Japanese tsunami shows many unwitting 'Falling Men'...people being swept away by the advancing waters, people driving cars, vans and trucks oblivious to the fast approaching blackened and rubble filled wave. All these people...mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, sisters and brothers. Each with their own story abruptly and unexpectedly curtailed. It will be a some time before the 'numbers' come in, but when they do it's worth just thinking of The Falling Man.
It is difficult to judge how the impact of the impending disaster at Fukushima will have on the Japanese psyche. As the only country ever to have had nuclear weapons dropped on it in anger, nuclear has always cast a dark shadow on the land. A large scale explosion leading to fallout across the country, region, globe will have a dramatic effect. As a country with few natural resources, nuclear power has been an enormous benefit...but whatever the outcome in Fukushima, expect the Japanese to turn themselves to finding alternative sources. They're not great inventors, but they are brilliant at taking an invention and making it work brilliantly - look what they've done with cars...making them reliable in a way that the Europeans and Americans are still playing catch up with, look what they've done with consumer electronics. This could be a turning point, and the silver lining to these events.
I learnt a while ago that people (that's you and me and everyone else) can only really cope with one 'event' at a time. So if you look back you'll see that Britain's love affair with food chain problems has been one thing after another rather than all together...salmonella in eggs, BSE, foot and mouth, etc, etc. In the same way, the problems in Libya and the rest of the Middle East have been consigned to small paragraphs tucked away mid-newspaper. So you may have not noticed that the 'rebels' in Libya are on the run, and likely to be squashed with or without the much-discussed 'no-fly-zone. Given the strength of Gadaffi's forces and the disorganised nature of the opposition, this was always likely to be the outcome...however sad that might be.
Of more significance, I think, is that the Saudis have sent troops to Bahrain to quell the rioting there. Royal families have always stuck together, and so it's no surprise that the troops have arrived following a 'request'. The last thing the Saudi's can afford is to see a Royal house begin to crumble because they would be next. I read yesterday on Sheik saying that people weren't really interested in democracy, the problems are rooted in standards of living. He's right, but whether the wealth can be better distributed whilst the current regimes are in place seems unlikely. And at some stage the oil generated wealth will ebb away, at which point there will be an almighty conflagration. But as there will be no oil to worry about, we won't care will we?
The Boy is doing his German oral today...or is it aural? He both talks and listens so I just don't know. Anyway, I'm hoping t goes well. Home matters are always the most important things aren't they?
It is difficult to judge how the impact of the impending disaster at Fukushima will have on the Japanese psyche. As the only country ever to have had nuclear weapons dropped on it in anger, nuclear has always cast a dark shadow on the land. A large scale explosion leading to fallout across the country, region, globe will have a dramatic effect. As a country with few natural resources, nuclear power has been an enormous benefit...but whatever the outcome in Fukushima, expect the Japanese to turn themselves to finding alternative sources. They're not great inventors, but they are brilliant at taking an invention and making it work brilliantly - look what they've done with cars...making them reliable in a way that the Europeans and Americans are still playing catch up with, look what they've done with consumer electronics. This could be a turning point, and the silver lining to these events.
I learnt a while ago that people (that's you and me and everyone else) can only really cope with one 'event' at a time. So if you look back you'll see that Britain's love affair with food chain problems has been one thing after another rather than all together...salmonella in eggs, BSE, foot and mouth, etc, etc. In the same way, the problems in Libya and the rest of the Middle East have been consigned to small paragraphs tucked away mid-newspaper. So you may have not noticed that the 'rebels' in Libya are on the run, and likely to be squashed with or without the much-discussed 'no-fly-zone. Given the strength of Gadaffi's forces and the disorganised nature of the opposition, this was always likely to be the outcome...however sad that might be.
Of more significance, I think, is that the Saudis have sent troops to Bahrain to quell the rioting there. Royal families have always stuck together, and so it's no surprise that the troops have arrived following a 'request'. The last thing the Saudi's can afford is to see a Royal house begin to crumble because they would be next. I read yesterday on Sheik saying that people weren't really interested in democracy, the problems are rooted in standards of living. He's right, but whether the wealth can be better distributed whilst the current regimes are in place seems unlikely. And at some stage the oil generated wealth will ebb away, at which point there will be an almighty conflagration. But as there will be no oil to worry about, we won't care will we?
The Boy is doing his German oral today...or is it aural? He both talks and listens so I just don't know. Anyway, I'm hoping t goes well. Home matters are always the most important things aren't they?
Monday, 14 March 2011
Blowing in the wind
It seems the land of the rising sun may be come the land of the rising mushroom cloud. I'm taking my iodine tablets just in case there's a wind blowing from the east.
Nuclear power, which was being dismissed as the future of power twenty years ago, had its come back moment when first-world countries realised that the golden age of oil wouldn't last for ever. I'm still not sure what we're doing with all that nuclear waste,but I guess we could give it all to Trafigura or Chevron which are evidently skilled in these matters. )Please Google them if you don't know.) That pesky natural power from the sun, sea and wind was just something that those hairy-armpitted greens wanted and was technically too difficult to develop. Of course it's much more difficult to get a blade to turn in the wind, to get a paddle to go up and down in the sea or use a mirrors to convert sunlight into steam generation than it is to split the atom. Obviously. Whilst I hope the Fukushima Daiichi plant doesn't go bang. Or even bang, bang, bang as there are three reactors there. I do hope it provokes a rethink on how much we are investing in eco-power research. As we live on a breezy island, it's beyond me why the sea and wind isn't providing all the power we need. Just think if we led the world in eco-power, we could export it and replace the defence industry which will sell a piece of weaponry to any dictator willing to pay...yep that may be Libya I'm thinking about amongst many, many others.
Bloggertropolis' Friday blog had a great take on the Olympic logo. I can't link directly for some reason, but here is the url for his blog. I can't watch The Simpsons ever again. He also rather stole my thunder as I wanted to do an Olympic blog, but as ever his take was witty and clever and my efforts stolid by comparison. The Iranian Government had announced that the 2012 logo read Zion, so they wanted the Olympic Committee to force it to be changed. I can't say I've noticed how 2012 translates into Zion...perhaps they are dyslexic. But, as ever, I find myself in complete agreement with the Iranians...the logo should be changed. It is rubbish...enough has been written about that by plenty of better qualified people than me. What I really wanted to say was David Cameron revealed himself in his true colours when his comment was, "If the Iranians don't want to come, don't come - we won't miss you." Well Mr Cameron, we will miss them. The Olympics is about the celebration of sports, and every country's sports men and women should be welcome regardless of what their government is saying or thinking. His comment was churlish, undiplomatic and thoughtless. Petty even. I shall be cheering on the Iranian team.
On matters at home, the two offspring were left home alone at the weekend. They didn't burn the place down which is a positive. They ate a cottage pie. Evidently vegetables was beyond them. Thank heavens we're back to feed them properly.
Nuclear power, which was being dismissed as the future of power twenty years ago, had its come back moment when first-world countries realised that the golden age of oil wouldn't last for ever. I'm still not sure what we're doing with all that nuclear waste,but I guess we could give it all to Trafigura or Chevron which are evidently skilled in these matters. )Please Google them if you don't know.) That pesky natural power from the sun, sea and wind was just something that those hairy-armpitted greens wanted and was technically too difficult to develop. Of course it's much more difficult to get a blade to turn in the wind, to get a paddle to go up and down in the sea or use a mirrors to convert sunlight into steam generation than it is to split the atom. Obviously. Whilst I hope the Fukushima Daiichi plant doesn't go bang. Or even bang, bang, bang as there are three reactors there. I do hope it provokes a rethink on how much we are investing in eco-power research. As we live on a breezy island, it's beyond me why the sea and wind isn't providing all the power we need. Just think if we led the world in eco-power, we could export it and replace the defence industry which will sell a piece of weaponry to any dictator willing to pay...yep that may be Libya I'm thinking about amongst many, many others.
Bloggertropolis' Friday blog had a great take on the Olympic logo. I can't link directly for some reason, but here is the url for his blog. I can't watch The Simpsons ever again. He also rather stole my thunder as I wanted to do an Olympic blog, but as ever his take was witty and clever and my efforts stolid by comparison. The Iranian Government had announced that the 2012 logo read Zion, so they wanted the Olympic Committee to force it to be changed. I can't say I've noticed how 2012 translates into Zion...perhaps they are dyslexic. But, as ever, I find myself in complete agreement with the Iranians...the logo should be changed. It is rubbish...enough has been written about that by plenty of better qualified people than me. What I really wanted to say was David Cameron revealed himself in his true colours when his comment was, "If the Iranians don't want to come, don't come - we won't miss you." Well Mr Cameron, we will miss them. The Olympics is about the celebration of sports, and every country's sports men and women should be welcome regardless of what their government is saying or thinking. His comment was churlish, undiplomatic and thoughtless. Petty even. I shall be cheering on the Iranian team.
On matters at home, the two offspring were left home alone at the weekend. They didn't burn the place down which is a positive. They ate a cottage pie. Evidently vegetables was beyond them. Thank heavens we're back to feed them properly.
Sunday, 13 March 2011
Don't panic. RTFM
Whilst Japan was disappearing under a tsunami following the earthquake, we headed up to Norfolk this weekend. I realise that this is an enormous prejudice on my heart, but I've been confused that in the last few months that Australia has been hit by floods, New Zealand has been hit by an earthquake, and now Japan. I always thought these things happened in third world countries. I may need to rethink.
The weekend in Norfolk had been planned for...oh I don't know how long, I just got told that we were going. Eight of us in a cottage in Norfolk, with seven of the group having known each other for thirty years. As one was The Cat's Mother's brother, UP, and I was at school with him it could be argued that I had at least known one of the party for thirty five years. But as we don't remember being in the same classroom, it didn't help. Anyway, without name dropping, the person whose cottage it is, does interior design work for the Sultan of Brunei. Well someone has to don't they?!
I guess it started going wrong when the phone rang earlier in the week at about half past ten at night. "Oh, Paul" said the voice at the other end of the line. Paul's not my name. That's the name of The Cat's Mother's ex. I decided to take umbrage. And I hold a grudge well.
It carried on when I discovered that I had to leave work early on Friday so we could get there at a reasonable time, when I was the only one there manning the fort that day.
As it happened, on Friday, I managed to spend three hours on the phone to my bank having one of those conversations when I'm speaking one language and clearly they're speaking another. Suffice to say, there will shortly be a missive to the ombudsman. Naturally this meant that all the work that needed to be done in the morning got crammed into an hour over lunch, and I was late leaving.
So I arrived home late, and forgot to pick up half the things I should have done.
We had two ways of getting there. Following the very scientific and very precise satnav, or following the directions of the person whose cottage it is. Naturally, the satnav was silenced. Anyway, I can tell you that Norfolk, all of Norfolk, is a lovely place at night. We would have carried on enjoying the scenic tour had it not been for me saying "Sussex Farm?" to which The Cat's Mother said, "No we're looking for Stewards Cottage. Oh. Erm Sussex Farm". Fortunately diesel's not that expensive at the moment is it?
Anyway, the cottage was lovely, and the people great. Apart from one who kept dripping the juice from the olives in my wine, and then kept pinching my glass as soon I put it down, and another who kept on referring to The Cat's Mother by her married name, which she changed by deed poll five years ago.
Anyway, I'd absolutely recommend a trip to Wells Next The Sea...it's a beautiful beach albeit a long walk from the town, with no beach cafe to get refreshments for some very tired legs. Actually I hadn't realised just how beautiful Norfolk could be....it really is stunning.
After a meal out we came back to play the name game. You may know it by a different name...it's the one where you write names on bits of paper, they go into a hat and everyone has to guess who it is. I can't stand it. I don't know why. I just don't enjoy it. I can't imagine that it's been played for thirty years, but it is a thirty-year old tradition and I joined in. You have to make these sacrifices.
The next morning, one of our number decided to put the dishwasher on, but in a 'brain fart' moment put in Fairy Liquid. The washing up liquid, not Fairy Liquid dishwasher tablets. I'd say no more than a couple of hours were spent scooping the foam out whilst exploring the internet for helpful suggestions, and Reading The Fucking Manual. In general scooping out the foam seems to be the way to go...certainly better than adding vinegar, or adding soap as suggested by some. It was largely fixed by the time we left.
Don't get the wrong idea, it was a lovely weekend. But very hard work indeed.
And the phrase of the weekend?
"Are you saying I disagree with my own opinion?"
You can work that one out yourself.
Dishwashers don't like washing up liquid
The weekend in Norfolk had been planned for...oh I don't know how long, I just got told that we were going. Eight of us in a cottage in Norfolk, with seven of the group having known each other for thirty years. As one was The Cat's Mother's brother, UP, and I was at school with him it could be argued that I had at least known one of the party for thirty five years. But as we don't remember being in the same classroom, it didn't help. Anyway, without name dropping, the person whose cottage it is, does interior design work for the Sultan of Brunei. Well someone has to don't they?!
I guess it started going wrong when the phone rang earlier in the week at about half past ten at night. "Oh, Paul" said the voice at the other end of the line. Paul's not my name. That's the name of The Cat's Mother's ex. I decided to take umbrage. And I hold a grudge well.
It carried on when I discovered that I had to leave work early on Friday so we could get there at a reasonable time, when I was the only one there manning the fort that day.
As it happened, on Friday, I managed to spend three hours on the phone to my bank having one of those conversations when I'm speaking one language and clearly they're speaking another. Suffice to say, there will shortly be a missive to the ombudsman. Naturally this meant that all the work that needed to be done in the morning got crammed into an hour over lunch, and I was late leaving.
So I arrived home late, and forgot to pick up half the things I should have done.
We had two ways of getting there. Following the very scientific and very precise satnav, or following the directions of the person whose cottage it is. Naturally, the satnav was silenced. Anyway, I can tell you that Norfolk, all of Norfolk, is a lovely place at night. We would have carried on enjoying the scenic tour had it not been for me saying "Sussex Farm?" to which The Cat's Mother said, "No we're looking for Stewards Cottage. Oh. Erm Sussex Farm". Fortunately diesel's not that expensive at the moment is it?
Anyway, the cottage was lovely, and the people great. Apart from one who kept dripping the juice from the olives in my wine, and then kept pinching my glass as soon I put it down, and another who kept on referring to The Cat's Mother by her married name, which she changed by deed poll five years ago.
Anyway, I'd absolutely recommend a trip to Wells Next The Sea...it's a beautiful beach albeit a long walk from the town, with no beach cafe to get refreshments for some very tired legs. Actually I hadn't realised just how beautiful Norfolk could be....it really is stunning.
After a meal out we came back to play the name game. You may know it by a different name...it's the one where you write names on bits of paper, they go into a hat and everyone has to guess who it is. I can't stand it. I don't know why. I just don't enjoy it. I can't imagine that it's been played for thirty years, but it is a thirty-year old tradition and I joined in. You have to make these sacrifices.
The next morning, one of our number decided to put the dishwasher on, but in a 'brain fart' moment put in Fairy Liquid. The washing up liquid, not Fairy Liquid dishwasher tablets. I'd say no more than a couple of hours were spent scooping the foam out whilst exploring the internet for helpful suggestions, and Reading The Fucking Manual. In general scooping out the foam seems to be the way to go...certainly better than adding vinegar, or adding soap as suggested by some. It was largely fixed by the time we left.
Don't get the wrong idea, it was a lovely weekend. But very hard work indeed.
And the phrase of the weekend?
"Are you saying I disagree with my own opinion?"
You can work that one out yourself.
Dishwashers don't like washing up liquid
Thursday, 10 March 2011
Oh God!
I nearly died when I read that in a poll by the Metro newspaper, 70% of Londoners had voted Leona Lewis the most influential Londoner of the last century. WTF? Two days later I still haven't got over it. I know the Metro is published by the same people as the Daily Mail, but that doesn't excuse it does it? The poll was to celebrate international women's day. All I can say to all those 10,000 loyal Leona Lewis fans is..."You shot yourself in the foot there didn't you?". Maggie Thatcher came a distant second with 5%. I should point out it was about being 'influential' rather than good or bad so I guess she should be right up there...her influence is still shaping our lives and will for some considerable time into the future.
I'm not a religious man, although I have been known to head to the church on Christmas Eve and when I was young I was an occasional alter boy (I struggled to get up for the early morning service). In general I'm of the opinion that organised religion is at the root of all evil, but that doesn't mean I don't think God is a good thing.
I'm not fussed which brand of religion it is when I head to the church doors, just so long as there's a rousing sermon and a good sing song. I'm sure that God by whatever name would agree. But last night we went to a debate and discussion about the King James Bible. It's four hundred years old you know. Well you would if you listened to Radio 4. I don't but I guess The Cat's Mother does. Or at least knows someone that does. Q radio for me.
Anyway, the importance of the KJB (as we in the know say) is that it, alongside Shakespeare, invented the very words we speak and write. So in a sense this blog is the bastard offspring of a very worthy work.
Anyway, it amused me that it was chaired by someone who almost certainly wasn't Christian. I may be wrong and I apologise if I am. There were were two academics. One Canadian working in America, and one who was at least 50% American but a professor in Oxford. I'm not sure why we couldn't have found an English Don for this. It is our language after all, although those compute companies keep making me to download En(US) versions. There was a playwright. And a vicar.
So the Canadian American, knowing that the event was sponsored by the RSC, put on a performance and a half. Completely unintelligible. But it was a performance worthy of any Shakespearean stage. The 50/50 Prof explained the basics to the idiots in the audience. That helped me a lot. The playwright must have said something of note, but I can't remember what. And the Rev (actually he was a Cannon Dr or a Doctor Cannon...no one seemed sure and is deputy head honcho at St Paul's) noted he didn't much care for it, preferring the William Tyndale version, which was mainly burnt in St Paul's Cathedral, and which he read under the duvet with a torch. He also looked as though he was going to top himself if he had to listen to anymore of the Canadian's rantings.
What I did learn is that it was mostly writing by committee - how devastating that our finest text was written by a bunch of bureaucrats, and all the best bits were actually filched from earlier versions. Most importantly, the French are at fault yet again. It was they that came up with the idea of numbered chapters and verses so now any extremist can take a line or two out of context, wave it around and then claim to be quoting God's word. As I said organised religion is the root of all evil. Or may be it's the French.
Stationers Hall...the scene of last night's event and also where the KJB was written. At least in part.
I'm not a religious man, although I have been known to head to the church on Christmas Eve and when I was young I was an occasional alter boy (I struggled to get up for the early morning service). In general I'm of the opinion that organised religion is at the root of all evil, but that doesn't mean I don't think God is a good thing.
I'm not fussed which brand of religion it is when I head to the church doors, just so long as there's a rousing sermon and a good sing song. I'm sure that God by whatever name would agree. But last night we went to a debate and discussion about the King James Bible. It's four hundred years old you know. Well you would if you listened to Radio 4. I don't but I guess The Cat's Mother does. Or at least knows someone that does. Q radio for me.
Anyway, the importance of the KJB (as we in the know say) is that it, alongside Shakespeare, invented the very words we speak and write. So in a sense this blog is the bastard offspring of a very worthy work.
Anyway, it amused me that it was chaired by someone who almost certainly wasn't Christian. I may be wrong and I apologise if I am. There were were two academics. One Canadian working in America, and one who was at least 50% American but a professor in Oxford. I'm not sure why we couldn't have found an English Don for this. It is our language after all, although those compute companies keep making me to download En(US) versions. There was a playwright. And a vicar.
So the Canadian American, knowing that the event was sponsored by the RSC, put on a performance and a half. Completely unintelligible. But it was a performance worthy of any Shakespearean stage. The 50/50 Prof explained the basics to the idiots in the audience. That helped me a lot. The playwright must have said something of note, but I can't remember what. And the Rev (actually he was a Cannon Dr or a Doctor Cannon...no one seemed sure and is deputy head honcho at St Paul's) noted he didn't much care for it, preferring the William Tyndale version, which was mainly burnt in St Paul's Cathedral, and which he read under the duvet with a torch. He also looked as though he was going to top himself if he had to listen to anymore of the Canadian's rantings.
What I did learn is that it was mostly writing by committee - how devastating that our finest text was written by a bunch of bureaucrats, and all the best bits were actually filched from earlier versions. Most importantly, the French are at fault yet again. It was they that came up with the idea of numbered chapters and verses so now any extremist can take a line or two out of context, wave it around and then claim to be quoting God's word. As I said organised religion is the root of all evil. Or may be it's the French.
Stationers Hall...the scene of last night's event and also where the KJB was written. At least in part.
Wednesday, 9 March 2011
One word - Tara's gallery
It's Wednesday and Tara's been setting a new photo challenge. For this week, the theme is one word. And lo this is the word. It's scary.
Tuesday, 8 March 2011
Easy going man
I am known amongst my friends as a kind generous, easy going magnanimous man. And indeed they are perceptive, clever people who understand the real me. The me that can sometimes be hidden, shrouded in a dark thick cloak of irritation, vindictiveness and venom.
That is why, ladies and gentlemen, I must remind you all that today is Shrove Tuesday. Pancake Day. So we all deserve pancakes. Once upon a time, The Boy and I always had pancakes on pancake day. Sprinkled with lemon and sugar, having been carefully made on our electric Pancake Maker. I'd had the Pancake Maker a long time, bought from a catalogue of kitchen gadgets. Unlike other kitchen gadgets like the sandwich maker, the blender, the fizzy drink maker, it didn't linger forgotten and unloved in the back of a cupboard. Well, actually it did, but came out once a year. Shrove Tuesday. That is until September 2009. I remember that sunny month well. It was the month when The Cat's Mother decreed we had so much shit in the Brighton flat that a skip should be summoned and said shit should be deposited in it. Whilst I defended my corner well, eventually I was ground down, and The Pancake Maker was discarded. Of all the things that were abandoned to the ravages of the rubbish tip, it was The Pancake Maker that has continued to irk. Nearly two years later. I loved that pancake maker. You just dipped it's smooth dome-shaped heated surface in a bowl of pancake mix to get perfect pancakes. Unbeatable. And The Cat's Mother made me throw it away. I loved that Pancake Maker. Irreplaceable. (I know because I've looked on e-bay and have scoured the world with the great God Google).
In a 'Where's Wally?' kind of a way, here is a picture and somewhere in there is The Pancake Maker. Everything in our kitchen had been put in the games room whilst the kitchen itself was modernised; not everything returned:
This is the games room now - as you can see there's a telephone and a kettle but no Pancake Maker. The Cat's Mother made me throw it away.
We'd better get pancakes tonight. Or else. Pancake maker or not.
Many people are quite vindictive about Phil Collins. I don't know why; I quite like him. I know he ruined Genesis and wrote some pretty awful rubbish as well as the good stuff. But overall I like him. Even if he dumped his wife by fax. Well we've all made mistakes haven't we? I bought a Phil Collins album at Christmas. And very good it is too. Although I have only listened to it once. But I like the man and I like his music. So it's sad that he's announced he's not going to make any more music, saying in FHM magazine "I don’t think anyone’s going to miss me. I’m much happier just to write myself out of the script entirely.”
He thinks everyone hates him, “I know that when I did interviews it came across like I could do everything, but I’ve never actually felt like that. I went through all my own VHS stuff recently and found mountains of old interviews with me and it was very, very hard to watch. I barely recognised the person I saw from that time. I’m a very different person now. I saw some of this show of mine from 1985 and I was on-stage and I never stopped running, never stopped talking.”
It is of course everyone else's fault: “The fact that people got so sick of me wasn’t really my fault. Yes there was a lot of me to dish out – there was me, me and Earth, Wind & Fire’s Phil Bailey, me and Genesis, me and that movie I was in, Buster – there was a lot of stuff. But I only made those records once.”
It was success that brought him down: “Around the time that the music was being played so incessantly people wanted to strangle me. It’s hardly surprising that people grew to hate me. I’m sorry that it was all so successful. I honestly didn’t mean it to happen like that!”
It's a shame because one of the very first gigs I went to was to see Phil Collins. Well not him per se. Brand X. Brand X made fantastic music. I still listen to the albums regularly and would whole-heartedly recommend you find an album and listen to it. Especially topical seems Moroccan Roll.
C'mon Phil don't go. Let's have some more Brand X. But no more Buster.
That is why, ladies and gentlemen, I must remind you all that today is Shrove Tuesday. Pancake Day. So we all deserve pancakes. Once upon a time, The Boy and I always had pancakes on pancake day. Sprinkled with lemon and sugar, having been carefully made on our electric Pancake Maker. I'd had the Pancake Maker a long time, bought from a catalogue of kitchen gadgets. Unlike other kitchen gadgets like the sandwich maker, the blender, the fizzy drink maker, it didn't linger forgotten and unloved in the back of a cupboard. Well, actually it did, but came out once a year. Shrove Tuesday. That is until September 2009. I remember that sunny month well. It was the month when The Cat's Mother decreed we had so much shit in the Brighton flat that a skip should be summoned and said shit should be deposited in it. Whilst I defended my corner well, eventually I was ground down, and The Pancake Maker was discarded. Of all the things that were abandoned to the ravages of the rubbish tip, it was The Pancake Maker that has continued to irk. Nearly two years later. I loved that pancake maker. You just dipped it's smooth dome-shaped heated surface in a bowl of pancake mix to get perfect pancakes. Unbeatable. And The Cat's Mother made me throw it away. I loved that Pancake Maker. Irreplaceable. (I know because I've looked on e-bay and have scoured the world with the great God Google).
In a 'Where's Wally?' kind of a way, here is a picture and somewhere in there is The Pancake Maker. Everything in our kitchen had been put in the games room whilst the kitchen itself was modernised; not everything returned:
This is the games room now - as you can see there's a telephone and a kettle but no Pancake Maker. The Cat's Mother made me throw it away.
We'd better get pancakes tonight. Or else. Pancake maker or not.
Many people are quite vindictive about Phil Collins. I don't know why; I quite like him. I know he ruined Genesis and wrote some pretty awful rubbish as well as the good stuff. But overall I like him. Even if he dumped his wife by fax. Well we've all made mistakes haven't we? I bought a Phil Collins album at Christmas. And very good it is too. Although I have only listened to it once. But I like the man and I like his music. So it's sad that he's announced he's not going to make any more music, saying in FHM magazine "I don’t think anyone’s going to miss me. I’m much happier just to write myself out of the script entirely.”
He thinks everyone hates him, “I know that when I did interviews it came across like I could do everything, but I’ve never actually felt like that. I went through all my own VHS stuff recently and found mountains of old interviews with me and it was very, very hard to watch. I barely recognised the person I saw from that time. I’m a very different person now. I saw some of this show of mine from 1985 and I was on-stage and I never stopped running, never stopped talking.”
It is of course everyone else's fault: “The fact that people got so sick of me wasn’t really my fault. Yes there was a lot of me to dish out – there was me, me and Earth, Wind & Fire’s Phil Bailey, me and Genesis, me and that movie I was in, Buster – there was a lot of stuff. But I only made those records once.”
It was success that brought him down: “Around the time that the music was being played so incessantly people wanted to strangle me. It’s hardly surprising that people grew to hate me. I’m sorry that it was all so successful. I honestly didn’t mean it to happen like that!”
It's a shame because one of the very first gigs I went to was to see Phil Collins. Well not him per se. Brand X. Brand X made fantastic music. I still listen to the albums regularly and would whole-heartedly recommend you find an album and listen to it. Especially topical seems Moroccan Roll.
C'mon Phil don't go. Let's have some more Brand X. But no more Buster.
Monday, 7 March 2011
Revolution!
I was sad to see that Alberto Granado had passed away. I didn't know him personally but he was a renowned doctor. Early in his career he worked at Cabo Blanco leprosarium in Maiquetía, and in 1961 became professor of biochemistry at the School of Medicine of the University of Havana. Later that year, he was one of the founders of the Institute for Basic and Pre-Clinical Sciences. In 1962, he founded the Faculty of Medicine at the University of Santiago serving as senior professor there. Between 1986 and 1990, he took part in the creation of the Cuban Genetics Society and was appointed its president. He was without doubt responsible for saving many lives, and inspiring others. What a great man.
As the newspapers report, though, he was best known as Che Guevara's travelling companion during the famous Motorcycle journey that turned Che into a revolutionary. The film of this journey, The Motorcycle Diaries was truly inspirational some thirty years after the event. The Boy enjoyed it immensely, and we've watched it dozens of times. What I'm hoping The Boy has taken from it is the value of travel and seeing how the world really is. With Guavera, it was the extremes of wealth and poverty of freedom and virtual enslavement that drove him, and I hope The Boy sees that whilst difference is fundamental to making the world go round, extremes of any sort are damaging and dangerous.
It's disappointing to see William Hague has heaped humiliation on Britain's finest by sending them into turbulent Libya in the hope they could find rebel leaders to make contact with. The situation is very 'fluid', the outcome very uncertain, and the thought of a group of eight Brits knocking on doors (OK, I'm sure they weren't quite doing that) asking for rebel leaders does seem ridiculous. The Libyans have said it, and it is only common sense, that for this revolt to succeed it must do so without foreign interference which will taint and undermine it. UK politicians may be nervous about the outcome, but really at this stage sending anyone there is a primary school mistake. Reputations and jobs have already been lost here in the UK over the Libyan affair, but muddying the waters will only make things worse.
As the newspapers report, though, he was best known as Che Guevara's travelling companion during the famous Motorcycle journey that turned Che into a revolutionary. The film of this journey, The Motorcycle Diaries was truly inspirational some thirty years after the event. The Boy enjoyed it immensely, and we've watched it dozens of times. What I'm hoping The Boy has taken from it is the value of travel and seeing how the world really is. With Guavera, it was the extremes of wealth and poverty of freedom and virtual enslavement that drove him, and I hope The Boy sees that whilst difference is fundamental to making the world go round, extremes of any sort are damaging and dangerous.
It's disappointing to see William Hague has heaped humiliation on Britain's finest by sending them into turbulent Libya in the hope they could find rebel leaders to make contact with. The situation is very 'fluid', the outcome very uncertain, and the thought of a group of eight Brits knocking on doors (OK, I'm sure they weren't quite doing that) asking for rebel leaders does seem ridiculous. The Libyans have said it, and it is only common sense, that for this revolt to succeed it must do so without foreign interference which will taint and undermine it. UK politicians may be nervous about the outcome, but really at this stage sending anyone there is a primary school mistake. Reputations and jobs have already been lost here in the UK over the Libyan affair, but muddying the waters will only make things worse.
Friday, 4 March 2011
First Friday Photos
Well, I'm sitting here a bit glum having failed to get The Boy tickets for V Festival...we went camping there three years ago, and it was a ball, even if the state of the toilets remains ingrained in my memory even now. This was going to be just for the Saturday, but it just didn't matter how many times I clicked, I just couldn't get them. Frustratingly, the site told me it had sold out as I was entering my card details. Hummmmmph.
Any way its TGIF, so a few photos from the last month to put up. I'm afraid there's a bit of a snow and mountain theme...
That cloud is coming off the Matterhorn and seems to be holding the sun
Beach huts in Brighton
Southwark Tube station...I waited ages for the couple to come into shot
Streetperformers in the rush hour in Southwark
Just us
Three-quarters of The Muffins
Behind the words...the Matterhorn
Very nearly, almost a real bird in the sky
The Cats Mother collects hares and got very excited to see this cloud
Evening time...the Matterhorn looks magnificent
Any way its TGIF, so a few photos from the last month to put up. I'm afraid there's a bit of a snow and mountain theme...
That cloud is coming off the Matterhorn and seems to be holding the sun
Beach huts in Brighton
Southwark Tube station...I waited ages for the couple to come into shot
Streetperformers in the rush hour in Southwark
Just us
Three-quarters of The Muffins
Behind the words...the Matterhorn
Very nearly, almost a real bird in the sky
The Cats Mother collects hares and got very excited to see this cloud
Evening time...the Matterhorn looks magnificent
Thursday, 3 March 2011
Getting it all in proportion
Only Waitrose could possibly conceive that Parmesan cheese is one of life's essentials. Much as I like it, I don't think I would be traumatised without it. It all depends on what side of the tracks you're from I guess.
The Cat's Mother and I went to see Diva, which was a special showing at the ENO's Coliseum this week. It's a film I love and could watch time and time again. The Cat's Mother, who hadn't seen it before merely commented that it was very much a French film of its time. She may have been one of the ones laughing inappropriately in the wrong places.
Proportionality is a big thing in the house at the moment. Of course an adult view of what is proportionate is different to a teenager's, and generally based on years of valuable experience. So it's more likely to be right. But that doesn't mean that I've forgotten the emotions of thirty odd years ago. Anyway, it's not made for an easy week, but what do I know, I'm just a Dad.
On the subject of proportionality, I see we have a referendum to decide the best way of electing our corrupt representatives to the House of Inequity. Now voting is something I do know a little bit about. I spent three years studying it at one of the universities that is now planning to charge anyone who plans to follow my footsteps £9000 for the privilege - if you look at the end results you may not feel that is good value for money. Anyway the nay sayers have always rejected any change on the basis that it leads to ineffective coalition governments. Right at the moment they don't have much of an argument there do they? I seem to remember that Italy had achieved something like 40 different governments since the second world war by the 1980's which seems to re-inforce the NO argument (they use a form of proportional voting). But, remarkably they had very consistent policies throughout the period, and at one stage a larger economy by value than the UK. I'm so overwhelmed by Mr Berulsconi, I can't quite see policies for bunga bunga parties, but they're still not doing too badly. Anyway, the main thrust of the No campaign is that the cost of running an election will be such that we won't be able to give our soldiers bullet proof jackets. Wasn't that the problem under Blair and Brown?
So I can see no reason not to vote yes. AV is far from being perfect, and I think would have made little difference to the ultimate result in the last election, and there are many far better (albeit more complicated) systems, but it is fairer and does give a value to each and every vote. The current system means that the result is actually decided by just a few tens of thousands of votes. We need a much wider ranging reform of politics, including the democratisation of the House of Lords, but in the meantime I'll take what I can get.
So in this referendum I shall put my one non-transferable vote into the yes box, whilst recognising that ultimately we get the politicians we deserve. We must be a terrible bunch. Hopefully when The Boy is old enough to vote, he'll see the benefit of getting everything in proportion.
Wednesday, 2 March 2011
Burning bridges
I may have mentioned there was a big change coming, but it's been a bit tricky getting to. A few innocent words have provoked a fever of speculation. Naturally, what's important to me may mean nothing to you.
Of course, I'm not alone in that. Our revered Spin Doctor in Chief, David Cameron, has been hinting about intervention in Libya, or possibly unilaterally declaring a no fly zone, forgetting that to do that you have to take out the ground radar and surface to air missiles first. Hmmmm. That's not good is it? Fortunately the Arab League has told everyone to keep their noses and guns out. This is an Arab affair and nobody else's business. And so it is. That hasn't stopped our fevered media gunning for an all out conflict to throw out yet another despot. Well it's worked so well in Iraq hasn't it?
Gadaffi falls into the category of 'bad dictator' so why we've been doing business with him I don't know. Anyone remember Tony Blair's ethical foreign policy. Some may say you need a moral compass before you can have an ethical policy of any sort. I hope the rebels win, and Gadaffi goes, but it is indeed a Libyan affair and any interference by the UK, or indeed other former colonial power will only make matters worse on a broader canvas. I'm using Twitter to keep up with the latest goings on from the ground, but it's any body's guess at this stage at the outcome. A couple of weeks ago Libya ABSOLUTELY WILL NOT CHANGE ITS LEADERSHIP. So who knows.
This is our cottage in Buckhurst Hill.
We bought it without too much thought. It was near the school The Boy was moving to at the age of 11. In fact that was the only criteria. It was the only property we looked at one weekend. It then took nigh on six months to complete, which meant our target of moving in before he changed school was missed. The poor lad had to commute first from Borough High St (London Bridge) and then Finsbury Park to Woodford Green for a month. But in we moved. Then I realised we had no furniture (the previous place had been rented out furnished). So for another six weeks we sat on the floor.
The first thing that had to change was the dark blue that oppressed the living room. We put down lovely wood, and on the advice of a friend who writes for Wallpaper magazine, left the York Stone fireplace. I hated it, but freely admit to being a fashion victim. Anyway, then it looked like this:
It had a lovely garden if you don't like gardening. We had some fabulous barbecues in it. Indeed, the summer of 2008 must have been a good one because we seemed to eat outside every night.
We did three more things. We removed the artex from the walls of the stairway and upper hall, put down oatmeal (that's beige to you and me) carpets and replaced the back door with a stable-style door. It was complete just as The Boy was getting bigger than me, and frankly it was getting a bit cramped for us both. But we loved it.
Then last year, we effectively abandoned it. We moved to Loughton to share a home with The Cat's Mother and The Cat. Our cottage was left and almost forgotten, but was always somewhere for us to retreat to if it all went wrong.
Well it hasn't all gone wrong, and at the turn of the year we decided to rent it out rather than let it go to rack and ruin. So we've had a few traumatic weeks of emptying it. Do you know how difficult it is to give away stuff like furniture you don't want? Nigh on impossible. But just before we went on holiday it was empty and ready for new tenants. I hope they love it as much as we did. For us there's no going back.
Of course, I'm not alone in that. Our revered Spin Doctor in Chief, David Cameron, has been hinting about intervention in Libya, or possibly unilaterally declaring a no fly zone, forgetting that to do that you have to take out the ground radar and surface to air missiles first. Hmmmm. That's not good is it? Fortunately the Arab League has told everyone to keep their noses and guns out. This is an Arab affair and nobody else's business. And so it is. That hasn't stopped our fevered media gunning for an all out conflict to throw out yet another despot. Well it's worked so well in Iraq hasn't it?
Gadaffi falls into the category of 'bad dictator' so why we've been doing business with him I don't know. Anyone remember Tony Blair's ethical foreign policy. Some may say you need a moral compass before you can have an ethical policy of any sort. I hope the rebels win, and Gadaffi goes, but it is indeed a Libyan affair and any interference by the UK, or indeed other former colonial power will only make matters worse on a broader canvas. I'm using Twitter to keep up with the latest goings on from the ground, but it's any body's guess at this stage at the outcome. A couple of weeks ago Libya ABSOLUTELY WILL NOT CHANGE ITS LEADERSHIP. So who knows.
This is our cottage in Buckhurst Hill.
We bought it without too much thought. It was near the school The Boy was moving to at the age of 11. In fact that was the only criteria. It was the only property we looked at one weekend. It then took nigh on six months to complete, which meant our target of moving in before he changed school was missed. The poor lad had to commute first from Borough High St (London Bridge) and then Finsbury Park to Woodford Green for a month. But in we moved. Then I realised we had no furniture (the previous place had been rented out furnished). So for another six weeks we sat on the floor.
The first thing that had to change was the dark blue that oppressed the living room. We put down lovely wood, and on the advice of a friend who writes for Wallpaper magazine, left the York Stone fireplace. I hated it, but freely admit to being a fashion victim. Anyway, then it looked like this:
It had a lovely garden if you don't like gardening. We had some fabulous barbecues in it. Indeed, the summer of 2008 must have been a good one because we seemed to eat outside every night.
We did three more things. We removed the artex from the walls of the stairway and upper hall, put down oatmeal (that's beige to you and me) carpets and replaced the back door with a stable-style door. It was complete just as The Boy was getting bigger than me, and frankly it was getting a bit cramped for us both. But we loved it.
Then last year, we effectively abandoned it. We moved to Loughton to share a home with The Cat's Mother and The Cat. Our cottage was left and almost forgotten, but was always somewhere for us to retreat to if it all went wrong.
Well it hasn't all gone wrong, and at the turn of the year we decided to rent it out rather than let it go to rack and ruin. So we've had a few traumatic weeks of emptying it. Do you know how difficult it is to give away stuff like furniture you don't want? Nigh on impossible. But just before we went on holiday it was empty and ready for new tenants. I hope they love it as much as we did. For us there's no going back.
Tuesday, 1 March 2011
Lies, damn lies and statistics
Back in the real world, we bumped into Liam Gallagher last night...almost literally as he was chased into a pub by the paparazzi. To be honest, I initially thought it was Ronnie Wood, but was confused by how much bigger he looked in real life...fortunately a picture in the Metro this morning put me straight. The Cat's Mother is disappointed I failed to correctly identify him at the time as he's on her list of five. She says she would have screamed. I said he might have screamed.
I'm not that good with celebrity spotting...it was The Boy that saw Jeremy Clarkson on holiday, and I completely missed David Bradley who plays Filch in Harry Potter when we arrived back at Stansted Airport. The likelihood of me ever meeting my list of five (which consists entirely of Monica Bellucci) seems ever more remote.
Kellogsville wrote recently about equality, and why women are paid less than men. And how topical is that, given that the European Court has announced the insurance industry can no longer differentiate (discriminate?) between men and women. Yippee because my car and bike insurance will be cheaper. Boohoo because my annual pension will be smaller. Yippee because The Boy will not have to pay an outrageous amount more than The Cat for his first car insurance.
So is this really the march of equality taking a big leap forwards? No, I don't think so. You can prove statistically that women have fewer accidents than men so logically should pay less. You can prove statistically that women live longer than men, so the annual payment out of their pension pot should be smaller. Political correctness has triumphed over the laws of biology. That's not really very clever or impressive is it?
Men and women are different. That doesn't mean they are not equal, in the sense of one man/woman one vote, and equal pay for equal work, but you cannot deny the basic differences. There are some things that are different...and legislation should recognise that. Or the judiciary should keep its nose out all together. I've never understood why men retire later than women when they die younger...except of course I do - historically men were the breadwinners and had to provide for their family. It's not like that now. I see there is some talk of forcing companies to have equal representation of men and women on their management board. It's not something I agree with, in the same way I don't agree with any form of positive discrimination....because effectively it discriminates against the people who are not part of the positive discrimination...and more importantly it doesn't deal with the underlying causes...just the symptoms.
I work in an industry that is dominated by women, yet women still tend to earn less than men. That suggests to me, at least, that discrimination is based on more than historical prejudice.
So what's needed is a root and branch look at where there is unreasonable discrimination, and that should be put right. It's difficult to summarise such a complex topic in so few lines, but I hope that as The Cat and The Boy grow up into the commercial world they are given an equal chance to achieve what they want. And they both pay a reasonable sum for their car insurance.
I'm not that good with celebrity spotting...it was The Boy that saw Jeremy Clarkson on holiday, and I completely missed David Bradley who plays Filch in Harry Potter when we arrived back at Stansted Airport. The likelihood of me ever meeting my list of five (which consists entirely of Monica Bellucci) seems ever more remote.
Kellogsville wrote recently about equality, and why women are paid less than men. And how topical is that, given that the European Court has announced the insurance industry can no longer differentiate (discriminate?) between men and women. Yippee because my car and bike insurance will be cheaper. Boohoo because my annual pension will be smaller. Yippee because The Boy will not have to pay an outrageous amount more than The Cat for his first car insurance.
So is this really the march of equality taking a big leap forwards? No, I don't think so. You can prove statistically that women have fewer accidents than men so logically should pay less. You can prove statistically that women live longer than men, so the annual payment out of their pension pot should be smaller. Political correctness has triumphed over the laws of biology. That's not really very clever or impressive is it?
Men and women are different. That doesn't mean they are not equal, in the sense of one man/woman one vote, and equal pay for equal work, but you cannot deny the basic differences. There are some things that are different...and legislation should recognise that. Or the judiciary should keep its nose out all together. I've never understood why men retire later than women when they die younger...except of course I do - historically men were the breadwinners and had to provide for their family. It's not like that now. I see there is some talk of forcing companies to have equal representation of men and women on their management board. It's not something I agree with, in the same way I don't agree with any form of positive discrimination....because effectively it discriminates against the people who are not part of the positive discrimination...and more importantly it doesn't deal with the underlying causes...just the symptoms.
I work in an industry that is dominated by women, yet women still tend to earn less than men. That suggests to me, at least, that discrimination is based on more than historical prejudice.
So what's needed is a root and branch look at where there is unreasonable discrimination, and that should be put right. It's difficult to summarise such a complex topic in so few lines, but I hope that as The Cat and The Boy grow up into the commercial world they are given an equal chance to achieve what they want. And they both pay a reasonable sum for their car insurance.
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